Across the aisle, the Scourge of the Seine whispers something to the little girl that makes her giggle. He smiles too, all teeth and villainy.
Why does my head feel as though it’s floating away from my shoulders?
“Arabella?” Winnie nudges me.
“A hundred and fifty years ago, I fell in love,” I hiss through gritted teeth. My fingers grip the trolley so hard that the plastic handle cracks. “And after he trampled my heart to dust, set fire to my dreams, and disappeared before I could torture him for the fun of it, I consoled myself with the thought that at least he was mortal and his bones would soon fertilise the earth while I lived forever. And nowthat same humanis standing across the fruit aisle without a care in the world.”
“Well then let’s say hello.”
Winnie grabs my arm, dragging me past a display of potatoes. Until now, I’ve found Winnie the least annoying of all my friends, as she’s taken the whole “vampires live among us and I’m engaged to one” revelation with a cool head and open heart. Now, she’s rapidly becoming my second-least-favourite person, after the bastard-son-of-a-Paris-sewer-rat over by the apples.
When she sees who I’m glaring at, Winnie gasps. “Arabella, that’sGideon Blake. Alaric’s friend. He’s the director of Sanctus Estate who you’ve agreed to spy on, remember? It’s going to be very difficult to get information about Patrick and Danny’s murders if you refuse to talk to him.”
“I’m resourceful. I’ll find a way.”
“Arabella.” Winnie gives me a shove in Gideon’s direction.
This can’t be happening.
In addition to reading books about generously-schlonged book boyfriends, my friends like to meddle in local supernatural affairs. After a local serial annoyance named Danny O’Hare and Winnie’s cheating ex Patrick Stock were both murdered and drained of blood by a vampire, of course they had to stick their noses in. We thought we caught the killer – the sadistic vampire Baylor Godsven of the Blood Ptolemy – and brought him to justice at Alaric’s vampire ball, but some new evidence came to light suggesting there might be more to the story. My friends are concerned that Gideon Blake, the director of Sanctus Estate, might have something to do with their murders.
Now that I know who Gideon Blake is, I’m certain of it.
Even more reason to stay away from him.
I duck under Winnie’s arm and make a beeline for the door. But I forget that I’m still gripping the trolley. It goes flying into a pyramid of watermelons, which topples faster than the Egyptian Empire after Cleopatra decided to hug a poisonous snake.
Watermelons bounce across the floor in all directions. One takes out the mother’s legs and sends her flying, before cracking open over Gideon’s shiny Armani loafers.
He stares down at his ruined shoes with a woeful frown. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”
That voice.
That damnedvoice.
He’s smoothed over his French accent with clipped British vowels, but it’s still honey oozing through my bones, dislodging memories from the darkest corners. Haunted, sacrilegious acts committed in an old church where we explored our desires, warm Parisian nights where I tasted freedom for the first time, a velvet curtain with gold pulls, a hot air balloon bobbing over the city. Golden hair on my gold-threaded sheets…
I allowed that sumptuous voice to pull me in once before. But I will not do so again.
“Gideon,” I hiss.
He looks up, and I’m pleased that he’s even more startled than I am to meet again.
“I…” He swallows. “You.”
“Yes. Me.” I fold my arms. “Interesting us meeting like this, a hundred and forty-seven years after yourobbedme.”
And because I’m a vicious bitch, I pluck the bright crimson apple from his fingers and raise it to my lips.
His scent hits me then. Honey and red cherries, soaked in poppy, with the copper tang of blood. Sin and sweetness. Unmistakably vampiric. Alluring.Intoxicating.
Utterly vile.
I take a huge bite of the apple, allowing my lipstick to smear across the skin. I trained under the best courtesans in Paris. I know exactly what I’m doing with that apple.
Gideon knows, too. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Bright-blue eyes fix on my neck, travelling down to the hollow of my collarbone.
That’s right, Gideon. My neck is bare now, thanks to you.
